


Catch and Release

by robocryptid



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Breaking Up & Making Up, Car Sex, Crack Treated Seriously, Cyberninja Hanzo Shimada, Damsel in Distress Jesse McCree, Hook-Up, Humor, Identity Porn, Kidnapping, Lifeguard Jesse McCree, Love Triangles, M/M, POV Alternating, Semi-Public Sex, Strangers to Lovers, but the kind where two parts of the triangle are one person, or semi-seriously I guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:20:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25993567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robocryptid/pseuds/robocryptid
Summary: Lifeguard McCree works at a beach currently being terrorized by an octopus-obsessed omnic. Cyberninja is on the scene!
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada
Comments: 91
Kudos: 416





	1. Fresh Catch

**Author's Note:**

> This cracky premise comes from [this thread with CommonNonsense](https://twitter.com/NonsenseCommon/status/1247183712246104071?s=20), in which the Lifeguard x Cyberninja combination was born. Title suggested by [ahdayumn](https://twitter.com/ahdayumn). 
> 
> Apologies in advance to any lifeguards or superheroes who feel their jobs are misrepresented by this fic.
> 
> UPDATE August 24, 2020: This fic now has [awesome fan art](https://twitter.com/showerwhoops/status/1297678243080867840?s=20) by the ever so talented [shower](https://twitter.com/showerwhoops). Please go give them all the love!

Jesse doesn’t need this job. He would get on just fine without it. He  _ could  _ spend his time indoors, without children shrieking underfoot, or horny teenagers who think they’re slick asking him to apply their sunscreen, or angry white women who all have the same damn haircut getting in his face because he dared to say,  _ no, ma’am, we don’t allow glass bottles on this beach. _

He thought he could help people, but the most he’s done is piss off tourists and occasionally set up an umbrella someone was struggling with.

Well, until today, when he got to save that little girl from the flailing mechanical tentacles. That was probably pretty helpful, but it comes with consequences. It’s not that he regrets diving in after her. He would even do it again if he had to. But she’s long gone with his rescue buoy by now, and it’s hard to be  _ too  _ proud of himself when he’s choking on seawater. 

So far the monster hasn’t dragged him under, but it’s a near thing. He’s trapped tight by the tentacle around his waist. That doesn’t stop him from vainly trying to tread water. A wave sloshes over his head and he sputters, coughing out brine and a stray piece of kelp. 

He’s pushing at the wet hair plastered over his eyes when the tentacle seizes around him and the monster begins to shriek. It lets go as quickly as it tightened around him, and then he’s free, dropping rapidly beneath another wave. For a desert native, he’s proud to say he’s a damn fine swimmer; he navigates the undertow blindly, relying on the drag of the water to tell him he is hopefully swimming away from the creature and not toward it. When his head pops above water again, he sucks in a deep breath and finally shoves the hair from his face. 

High on the fishing pier, there’s a lone figure. They’re hard to make out with the glaring sun on the water, but he’s pretty sure he’s not hallucinating the bow they’re holding. Most folks have backed away, ants in the distance, so he waves to catch the person’s attention. 

A life preserver lands in the water a few yards from him, and he paddles over, unwilling to acknowledge his exhausted muscles until he can finally rest his arms. The figure on the pier slowly reels him in. 

Once he is practically hugging one of the posts that jut from the water, a voice calls down to him, barely audible over the waves. “Can you climb?”

“Guess we’ll find out,” he says as cheerfully as he can. The ladder isn’t far, but after the ordeal with the weird tentacle robot, his body is wearing out quickly. 

He focuses on the rungs in front of him as he climbs. His muscles are shaking by the time he’s reached the top, so he doesn’t bother to look then either, preferring instead to flop onto his back on the sun-warmed pier, panting as he stares at the sky. 

The face that crowds his vision makes him regret the first impression. He might also instantly regret the “Oh, shit,” that escapes his mouth. 

His rescuer is Cyberninja. Like any sane person, Jesse’s got his mixed feelings about vigilantes, but he’ll be damned if he isn’t a little starstruck anyway. It doesn’t hurt that Cyberninja is hot as hell up close, or at least the portion of his face that’s visible. He has the kind of eyes Jesse could drown in — more pleasantly than his near drowning a few moments ago — and the way the mask clings to his cheekbones promises they are dangerously sharp beneath it. Those alone can make up for a lot, whatever else might be hiding under the fabric. Throw in the form-fitting suit over a perfectly chiseled body, and Jesse’s pretty sure he’s going to spend the rest of his life recreating this moment in his head. 

Cyberninja’s eyes crinkle with what might be amusement. “Are you alright?” There, at least, is something to disappoint him: Cyberninja uses some kind of modulator to disguise his voice. No telling what he actually sounds like. On the upshot, it means Jesse can fill his later fantasies with any voice he chooses.

“Pretty sure.” The literal, honest-to-God superhero helps him sit up, which leads him to promptly belch. Swallowing all that seawater was rough enough without this. He regrets it almost as much as he regretted letting Liz dye his hair blond. “Pardon me,” he mutters. 

Cyberninja gives him a rough pat on the back. “It could be worse. You could have drowned. Can you stand?” 

Jesse nods, not trusting himself not to say or do something else embarrassing, and Cyberninja hauls him to his feet as easily as if Jesse were a tiny child and not a grown man just over six feet tall. He’s a full head taller than Cyberninja himself, which both makes the feat more impressive and startles the shit out of him. Somehow he always imagined any superhero he met would dwarf him. 

If his rescuer is taken aback by it, he doesn’t show it. He only makes sure Jesse is steady on his feet before he lets him go. Jesse already misses the touch. 

That’s the last calm moment he gets before the reporters swoop in. 

* * *

He spends the next week as a minor local celebrity. Word got around that he dove in after that girl, and the news stations play Cyberninja’s short fight with the octo-omnic every few hours, up to and including the footage of him pulling Jesse to his feet. 

Whenever he sees the reminder, he has to stifle a dreamy sigh that would better suit a mooning teenager. He’s one giddy heart palpitation away from scribbling “Mr. and Mr. Cyberninja” in his diary. A dramatic rescue will do that to a person. 

Normally Jesse’s not the type to let somebody scramble his head like that, but normally, the guy doesn’t save his life then disappear before Jesse even gets to see his face. It’s left him daydreaming about the lower half of Cyberninja’s face, and worse, imagining likely candidates around every corner. One day it’s a man perusing eggs at the supermarket, but his hair is more brown than Cyberninja’s shiny black. Another time, it’s the barista who smiles at Jesse and offers a free coffee to the local hero. He’s too tall, though, and too lean, but his smile  _ is  _ awfully nice, so Jesse lets himself be flattered when he spots the phone number scrawled down the side of his cup of iced coffee. 

Today, it’s the man on the beach during Jesse’s shift. He has jet black hair pulled into a small bun and held out of his face by a white band. He’s got an impressive, full sleeve tattoo and a close cropped beard, which Jesse’s not sure he expects out of Cyberninja, but the body might be right. If the guy’s not a superhero, maybe he should play one on TV. 

He catches Jesse looking, and those dark eyes do a quick sweep over his body. It ends with a smirk, and Jesse suddenly doesn’t care  _ who  _ the guy is. He has never been tempted by any of the nearly-naked people he sees on a daily basis, not while he’s on the clock, but this guy suddenly has him counting the steps to the public showers and fantasizing about what they could get up to in there. Jesse gives him a cautious smile and a tiny wave in return. 

“Good God,” Liz says at his side. “I think you already won today.” 

Jesse snorts, but he doesn’t disagree with her. She’s the one who encouraged him to get certified, joking that the gig is a bisexual’s dream job. She also likes to compete over which of them gets the most attention from the beachgoers on any given day. She calculates points for quantity, style, and quality, by which she means how hot she ranks the person in question. He’s supposed to buy her a drink if she wins, but they’re typically even by the end of the week. He’s pretty sure the game is only how she stays alert on the clock, no real consequences, but he hasn’t discounted the possibility that she tried to sabotage him when she talked him into going blond. 

The tattooed guy doesn’t go far. He sets up halfway between the lifeguard chairs and the water, body hidden from Jesse’s view by his umbrella. The umbrella is navy with a bright yellow dragon on it, though, which sticks out in the crowd of vivid stripes and keeps drawing Jesse’s eye. 

“Mm, maybe some points off for bein’ tacky,” Liz says with a laugh. “But that’s your style, ain’t it?”

“It’s called havin’ flair,” he protests distractedly. 

The day goes by slowly, although Jesse wracks up a few more points when he applies a bandaid to a kid’s knee and her mom seems more interested in flirting than in her child’s well-being. Liz catches up to him when she goes to scold a group of frat boys for their glass bottles and they respond by offering to share their beer. 

By noon the beach is at full capacity, the sun glaring off the water. The dragon umbrella is still up, taunting him; the most he’s seen of the hot guy beneath is a pair of legs poking out. Jesse’s getting antsy, waiting on someone to come relieve him for his lunch break, when there’s a tremor that shakes the chair. The water seems to shiver too, waves suddenly choppy. 

“Not again,” he groans. 

He and Liz are scrambling down the tower in the next instant. He blows fiercely on the whistle and she’s got the megaphone, shouting for folks to evacuate the water. Most of them don’t have to be told; Jesse darts toward the shore as panicked swimmers start splashing back toward the beach. He and Liz both wade into the surf, then Jesse goes as deep as his knees to help a man up after the swirling water yanks his feet out from under him. There are people farther out, still working their way to shore, and as much as he hates the idea, Jesse wades deeper to guide them in. 

It all seems to take too long and to happen in an instant. He doesn’t know how many people he pulls in before something wraps around his ankle and yanks him under. He’s dragged rapidly through the water, no time to react or even to panic before he’s hauled back to the fresh air, dangling upside down over the waves. There’s no elegant way to fight it; he’s pretty sure he’s wriggling like a fish on a hook. He’s almost as terrified of the creature letting go as he is of staying trapped. The only saving grace is that the torpedo buoy is still strapped to his body this time. 

He can hear the distant screams of people on the shore, and more shouting coming from nearby. There are two other people with him, held aloft by the huge metal limbs. There’s also a mighty, thunderous sound and a streak of blue beneath the water, heading straight for them all. 

It crashes into the creature with a shriek of tortured metal, and Jesse has just enough time to prepare to dive before the tentacle suddenly drops him. The thing thrashes and the water churns, battering at him from all directions. 

He swims as quickly as he can to the nearest of his fellow captives, a big man who is flailing enough that Jesse has to twist his head far to the side to avoid getting smacked in the face. He grabs the man from behind and shoves the buoy under his body. “You’re alright,” Jesse says, even if he doesn’t believe it himself. 

The young woman is already swimming their way, and he gets the man calmed enough that they can all hang onto the buoy. He guides them carefully into paddling back toward the shore. They should wait for rescue, but he’s worried that when the thing goes down, it’s going to take them with it. He mutters reassurances at them, forcing himself not to seem out of breath or afraid. 

He swims backward, so he’s the only one who sees as the creature sinks back under the water. They’ve swam far enough away that the drag it creates only just touches them, a brief dent in their momentum until they break free again. 

Once they’re closer to shore, Liz appears, drawing one of Jesse’s rescues to her. Fareeha is there too for the young woman, whose dazed expression might have more to do with the effect Fareeha tends to have and less to do with the recent danger. Someone else grabs Jesse, who’s been through enough training sessions that he just lets it happen, relieved to let his panicked, fatigued muscles relax. 

When they’re close enough to walk, his rescuer butts up under one arm, a hand on his hip, and takes all the weight of Jesse’s stumbling. He’s so tired he doesn’t get to truly  _ react  _ until he’s back on dry land.

“I’m going to let you go now,” Cyberninja warns. 

Jesse nods, then he drops instantly to his hands and knees. It’s only half intentional. Cyberninja crouches in front of him, no less gorgeous than Jesse’s memories made him out to be. It’s a blessing that the hero is in body armor, because he’s not sure he could handle the humiliation of the moment if Cyberninja were any more attractive. “Thanks,” Jesse mutters. “Again.”

“You’re welcome again.” 

“Sorry I’m the kind of idiot you gotta rescue twice.”

Cyberninja chuckles, then his eyes dart to the side before they come back to Jesse’s face. “What you did was very brave. That is nothing to apologize for.” It’s part of the job, and he was terrified the whole time. He’s surprised he didn’t piss himself. Nothing about that feels brave, and Jesse’s used exactly this tone on someone he’s pulled out of the water before. But somehow when a distractingly hot superhero says it, it’s hard not to believe him. He’s pretty sure he’s blushing, but he’s still flushed enough from exertion that he probably gets away with it. Cyberninja clears his throat and rises from his crouch. “You could make my job easier by staying out of trouble, though,” he says. Jesse thinks the guy might be  _ teasing  _ him. 

The news cameras are approaching again, one broadcast journalist stumbling in her heels in the sand. Cyberninja helps Jesse to his feet, then the hero stomps through the press, waving off the cameras they try to shove in his face. As soon as they realize they’re not getting a word out of him, they round on Jesse and the others. 

* * *

He’s offered time off, whatever it takes to help him recover, because Reinhardt’s a damn good boss. There is only so much Jesse can handle of doing nothing, though. He’s back on the beach within a week, although they stick him on cleanup duty instead of putting him right on the water. 

“I missed your dumb ass,” Liz grumbles through the walkie-talkie. “They keep pairing me up with the most boring people. Yes, I’m talkin’ shit about you, Amari. Live with it.” 

“Aww, she’s plenty fun. Maybe if you actually paid attention to her instead of makin’ up your mind beforehand...”

“Whatever. Did you know your man’s been here every day?”

“My man?”

“Giant tattoo? Muscles for days? Cheekbones that could cut a bitch? Stupid-ass umbrella?”

“Oh. Right.”

“‘Oh, right,’” Liz scoffs. “Sure— oh my God, Amari, I don’t  _ care _ what the walkies are supposed to be for.” She lets out a long, exaggerated groan. “Come back to me, Jesse. She’s such a wet blanket. And she’s fuckin’ up my scores with the sapphic crowd! How am I supposed to compete with those biceps?”

“Actually go to the gym, maybe?” 

“Listen, I swim, I do Pilates, I can— shit. Gotta go!”

Despite that it involves more moving around, beach cleanup is somehow a lot more boring than manning the chairs. He’s grateful when his break finally comes, and he decides to treat himself to a cherry popsicle from the nearby stand, where they refuse to let him pay. 

Usually he lets Liz’s words go in one ear and out the other, but today that is clearly a mistake. She told him the hotass tattoo guy was here; he should have listened. Then he wouldn’t almost choke on his popsicle when he turns and nearly stumbles into the man in question. 

He’s even hotter up close, and he’s sort of  _ gleaming  _ from the combined power of sweat and sunscreen. Jesse’s eyes immediately drop to his mouth, then to his chest, then finally back to his eyes. “Uh. Hi. Sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry. I was standing too close.” He doesn’t sound very apologetic, though, and his eyes are tracking over Jesse’s features. “You’re the one who’s been in the news.”

“That’s me, yeah.” Normally he’s self-conscious about it, uncomfortable with the prospect of anyone knowing his business, but he’s pretty sure this man could talk him into anything. He should say something else, but his mind is alarmingly blank of anything beyond how much he would like to lick up the drop of sweat sliding between the guy’s pecs. 

“A real life hero,” the man says with a smirk. It drags Jesse’s attention back to his mouth, which is sort of perfectly shaped. 

“Heh, Cyberninja did all the heroics. I just did my job.” 

“And modest, too?”

He doesn’t especially care if the guy is just trying to brush up against the tiniest bit of fame or if he would hit on Jesse regardless. He is still hot as hellfire and signaling he’s interested, giving Jesse the distinct impression that this run-in was no accident. “Not about everything,” Jesse admits with a grin. His popsicle is dripping, so he does the cheesiest thing he can think of: he catches the drop with his tongue, sucking lightly at the skin of his hand. He doesn’t break eye contact. 

There’s still twenty minutes left on his break, which is plenty of time to learn the guy’s name — Hanzo — and to let him drag Jesse to the parking lot. Hanzo shoves him into the nearly non-existent backseat of an expensive sports car, climbing over his sprawling body to initiate an enthusiastic, cherry-flavored kiss. He licks into Jesse’s cold mouth, hands clutching either side of his face, and it’s all Jesse can do to keep up with him. 

It’s hard to tell whether it’s the heat or Hanzo’s kisses sucking the air from his lungs, but eventually Hanzo breaks with a laugh and stretches awkwardly over him and into the front of the car to push the start button, blasting them with stale air that quickly turns cool. Hanzo’s only halfway back to him when Jesse lunges forward to capture his mouth again. 

The backseat is cramped and awkward, made more so because it’s broad fucking daylight and he doesn’t need anybody to see this. It doesn’t stop him, but it does make him hyper aware of everything from the height of the seat backs to the sharp contrast between their body heat and the frigid A/C. He’s most aware of Hanzo, though, who he yanks close and refuses to let go, his hands slipping over sweat-slick skin. “Wanna suck you off,” he breathes against Hanzo’s neck.

“Next time,” Hanzo mutters against his mouth, right before he sinks his teeth into Jesse’s bottom lip. It’s the smart choice; the space is tight enough without trying to contort themselves enough for all that. Jesse accidentally kicks the door as Hanzo shoves him fully onto his back, but it’s hard to focus on his throbbing toe when Hanzo rolls his hips down, the hard outline of his cock sliding along Jesse’s.

“Next time,” Jesse agrees as his hips stutter into the contact. He tries to spread his legs wider like that will get Hanzo closer somehow, but there’s no space for it. One hand slips down Hanzo’s back, diving into the waistband of his shorts to grip his ass, using that to pull him into a rhythm. As Jesse rocks up to meet him, he nudges his mouth under Hanzo’s jaw, nipping at the tender skin there. “Want you to fuck my mouth.” Hanzo curses and his hips dig in harder, hands sliding over Jesse’s ribs, fingers carding through the hair on his chest. “You want that?”

“Yes,” Hanzo pants. 

“Bet you taste so fuckin’ good all over, don’t you?” He slips his fingers down Hanzo’s slick crack, stroking the skin behind his balls and back up to circle his hole with the pads of his fingers, around and around until it’s clenching and releasing like Hanzo’s body can’t decide  _ what  _ it wants from Jesse. “God, I want you to ride my face. Can lick you out so good, baby.” 

Jesse knows he’s babbling, but Hanzo groans in response, egging him on with breathless agreements and the increasingly twitchy roll of his hips, the drag of his cock along Jesse’s length. So Jesse keeps talking, and slowly circling his hole, the barest amount of pressure there until he slowly opens up for Jesse to push one finger in. 

Hanzo spasms above him, squeezing around the tip of Jesse’s finger, hips snapping forward as his body trembles its way through an orgasm. He goes still for a moment, then he cursed and sweeps his tongue into Jesse’s mouth again, snaking a hand between them and into Jesse’s shorts to grip his cock. He fumbles more than once, trying to balance his weight against the seat, but Jesse’s turned on enough that it doesn’t matter. He feels the pressure build, the muscles clench, and he comes, groaning against Hanzo’s mouth.

In the aftermath, the space seems somehow smaller. Hanzo shifts his weight, which lets Jesse sit up and grants a view of Hanzo’s shorts stretched across his tight ass as he leans into the front of the car again, digging in the glove box. He comes back with a handful of paper napkins and sits hard on the seat next to Jesse.

They clean themselves up the best they can in awkward silence, and Jesse contemplates the reality of the situation. He’s done plenty of reckless things in his life, but hooking up in a stranger’s car during his lunch break is a new one to scratch off the list. It has also been a long time since he’s had sex with somebody whose name he only learned a few minutes before. And while the promises of  _ next time  _ were cute, he’s been around long enough to know that what folks say during sex doesn’t always mean anything once the heat of the moment has passed. 

He’s calculating how long it’s going to be before he gets kicked out of the car when Hanzo says, “I do not normally…” 

“Me neither.” He can’t read the smile Hanzo gives then, can’t tell if it’s relieved or bemused, but he figures one of them has to jump first. There’s a pen in the cup holder up front, and they didn’t use  _ all  _ the napkins. “I gotta get back to work, but if you wanna do this again, or maybe, I don’t know, get coffee? Or something?” He carefully doesn’t look at Hanzo’s face, because he’s never been a fan of the particular look that comes from a one-night stand trying to be polite about breaking the news. Instead he scribbles his number on the napkin. “You can text me.” He flashes his most charming smile and goes in for a quick peck, then he escapes back out into the oppressive heat. There is just enough time to wash up and change his shorts before his break ends. 

* * *

It takes two days, but Hanzo texts right as Jesse is convincing himself it will never happen. It’s late enough at night that he almost expects the typical “want to come over?” follow-up. What he gets instead is:  _ Have you ever been to the tapas bar on 5th Street? _

Jesse hasn’t, actually, not least because his usual favorite places aren’t exactly on the local  _ Best Date Night Dining  _ lists. His are more like the best date night dining when you’re with somebody you’ve already farted in front of a few dozen times. Not exactly impressive material for a first date with a near stranger. 

He agrees to go anyway, telling himself it will be an adventure. In the meantime, they exchange enough texts that he learns Hanzo keeps fucking weird hours and is probably either a serial killer or an eccentric millionaire, because his ability to maintain a real human conversation waxes and wanes. 

Maybe he’s not either of those things. Maybe he’s an omnic. He’s a convincingly humanoid omnic, if so. 

Importantly, he is also mind-meltingly hot and interested in Jesse, which is a winning enough combination that he can forgive the guy’s unfortunate skill at texting. On Thursday, Jesse spots him on the beach again. Whatever Hanzo lacks in social prowess, he more than makes up for with the way he looks with his shirt off. The effect is magnified by his smile and his willingness to buy Jesse another popsicle to make up for the one he never finished.

Friday night arrives to find Jesse loitering on the sidewalk outside a place called The Hazel and trying to ignore the way his insides shrivel up whenever he looks at the clientele. The place is everything he hates in a restaurant, perfectly on trend with no real personality of its own. He got here ten minutes early. It’s another ten past seven o’clock when he finally gets the text:  _ Sorry. Running late. _

Jesse snorts. No shit. But if Hanzo really wanted to leave him hanging, he wouldn’t have texted, right?

Once he makes up his mind to wait inside, the hostess looks skeptical at first. Then she does a double take. “Oh my God, you’re that lifeguard!” 

That makes things easier, at least. There’s a limit to how long they’re willing to hold a reservation if the party is late, and they won’t seat him alone, but she says she will hold the spot as long as she can. In the meantime, there’s a bar, complete with the owner-slash-bartender who is impressed enough to declare that Jesse’s drinks are on the house. His date’s too, if Hanzo ever arrives. 

Maybe this place isn’t so bad, even if they  _ do  _ call one of their appetizers “Middle Eastern spiced chickpea mash.”

“Just call it fuckin’ hummus, man,” Jesse mumbles at the bartender. He’s two anxious drinks down now, and the guy is starting to look at him with pity. 

“When did you say your friend was getting here?”

Jesse scoffs and flips his phone around to show off the  _ Work is taking longer than expected  _ from twenty minutes ago. “Who the hell knows?”

“You want advice?”

“Go for it. Never had a bartender  _ actually  _ give me advice before.”

The guy laughs the practiced laugh of a service worker, and he sets one more drink in front of Jesse. “If he doesn’t show by the time you finish that, call a car and go. It’s not worth your time.” 

It is indeed good advice, and Jesse follows it to a tee. It’s after nine by the time the car service drops him off back home, and he drops to the couch, doing everything in his power not to pout about getting stood up. He flips through his social media apps, and the trending story on every site is about a breakin-turned-hostage situation at the research laboratory across town. 

He catches up on the story and indulges in a few dreamy sighs over the picture of Cyberninja hauling an unconscious person out of the building. Shortly after ten, a banner crosses the top of his screen with one last text from Hanzo. It says only,  _ Sorry. _


	2. Like the Tide

Your typical Saturday at the beach at the height of summer is already miserable. Combined with Liz’s hangover and his own gloomy mood, it promises to be hell on earth. It’s only been a couple hours, and Jesse has already shouted at the same kid four times for shoving his buddy’s head under the water, told three people they can’t have their dogs on the beach, and gotten into an argument with two different elderly women. The only thing preventing it from being worse is that Liz is feeling angry enough at the world that she’s more than happy to be the confrontational one today. 

On his lunch break, he climbs down the massive chair only to find Hanzo waiting at the bottom. It takes serious balls to show his face at Jesse’s place of work after last night’s stunt. Either that or Hanzo’s slower on the uptake than he realized. Jesse sort of thought the resounding silence with which he answered Hanzo’s texts spoke for him. 

“Want me to shoot him, Jess?” Liz calls down. 

Hanzo somehow manages to look both guilty and amused, mouth twisted into something that isn’t quite a smile. “I’m sorry,” he says.

Jesse almost rolls his eyes, but he figures he owes it to himself to get an explanation. Not right here, though. Not where Liz can stick her nose in it. He starts walking. “What happened?”

Hanzo falls into step beside him and says, “An emergency at work. Sometimes a project gets away from me, and I can’t leave before it is finished.” 

The thing is, Jesse doesn’t feel like he has much right to be more than a little annoyed. All Hanzo did was waste his time, and from the sound of it, he really does feel bad. There’s not much reason he would go to all this trouble to apologize if he didn’t mean it. Something about Hanzo tells him this is the kind of guy who’s always going to put work first, though, and to a fault. Jesse doesn’t have much patience for that type.

He’s getting ready to tell him it’s not a big deal, don’t worry about it, have a nice life. Naturally this is when Hanzo switches tack. His mouth curves and his eyes go dark, and he all but purrs, “What if I offer to make it up to you?”

Jesse’s almost mad about the way that tugs at something low in his belly, but not mad enough to stop him from asking, “What did you have in mind?” Hanzo moves closer, and Jesse freezes where he stands, held in place by nothing more than a finger tracing the waistband of his shorts while Hanzo murmurs in his ear. 

The offer results in the two of them sneaking into the locker room, where Hanzo sucks every one of Jesse’s brain cells out through his dick. It is pretty damn persuasive. Hanzo knows it, too, because he’s smirking as he wipes the corner of his mouth with one thumb. He doesn’t even get off his knees before he asks, “So? Another try?”

“Alright,” Jesse pants as he drags Hanzo to his feet. “I’m pickin’ the place, though. Burgers or somethin’. I can’t do that again.”

Hanzo grins, looser now that he’s getting what he wants, which is the kind of attitude that should be annoying but somehow isn’t. Jesse blames the orgasm and the accompanying lightheaded giddiness. “Burgers are acceptable.”

“What made you pick that place anyway?”

“I googled ‘best date night dining’.”

Jesse finally has a place for that weird energy to go; he laughs. “I knew it.” 

Then he shoves Hanzo against the wall and stuffs a hand down his shorts.

* * *

Somehow a date on a weeknight feels like less pressure, and so does showing up when it’s not yet dark out. It makes it feel less… datey. Which is good, since Jesse’s not convinced he will in fact _get_ a date. 

Just like last Friday, Jesse arrives ten minutes early. Unlike last Friday, Hanzo is already standing outside, only barely overdressed for the venue, although the gray slacks and white button-down are understated enough that he could have come straight from work. Whatever work means for him. 

As soon as he sees Jesse, he shoves his phone in his pocket and smiles broadly. They then do an uncertain dance; given the circumstances, it’s not clear what sort of greeting is most appropriate. For a guy who has fucked around with Jesse in public twice now — who shamelessly _initiated_ it both times — Hanzo’s body language is awfully reserved. Jesse settles for an awkward half-wave of his hand. 

As painfully as it begins, they manage to find a rhythm by the time the server comes by to take their orders and their menus. The atmosphere helps, at least on Jesse’s end. The restaurant is nicer than his first instinct — that was a place where the food arrives in plastic baskets instead of plates — but it’s still a small family-owned place where absolutely nothing follows the current trends. 

“Have you been here before?” Hanzo asks.

“A few times. Been good every time though. How ’bout you?”

“Ah, no.” 

“Don’t eat out much, or..?”

“I probably eat out _too_ much,” Hanzo admits with a laugh. “At least takeout. But I live on the other end of town.” 

“You work on this side of town?” 

“No.” Hanzo shakes his head. “Why?”

“Just wonderin’ what brought you to my beach,” Jesse says with a shrug.

“Curiosity.” He looks like he might elaborate when his brow furrows. His smile grows twitchy. Then Jesse hears it: Hanzo’s phone is vibrating in his pocket. 

“You need to answer that?”

“No. No, I do not.” 

It continues, though, and continues, well beyond a single phone call. “Pretty insistent, aren’t they? You sure you don’t wanna check, make sure it’s not an emergency?”

Hanzo gives an anxious sounding laugh. “If work is calling, it’s always an emergency. Someone else will— take care of— Damn it.” He yanks his phone out, glances at the screen, then he silences the whole thing. His eyes close, and he breathes in, and Jesse knows what he’s going to say. “I have to go.”

“Oh no,” Jesse says, as convincingly surprised as he is able to be. 

Hanzo’s eyes flick his way, skeptical and apologetic at once. He digs through his pocket and pulls out a fine leather wallet. “I am sorry. Again. I would not leave if I didn’t have to. I hope you’ll forgive me. Dinner is my treat.” He drops several twenties on the table, enough that Jesse feels vaguely embarrassed by the amount. He flashes one last weighty, apologetic look over his shoulder as he bolts out the door. The server arrives with their food a few minutes later, and Jesse has to ask her to pack it up to-go. He leaves all the cash on the table.

Two hours later, he gets a text from Hanzo: _I’m sorry again._

Jesse doesn’t bother answering it, too busy sulking in front of his television. His phone buzzes again. _May I come over? I can bring dessert._

He should say no. He should cut Hanzo out. 

Jesse hates having his time wasted, and this guy’s done it twice. It doesn’t matter how hot he is or how good the sex has been so far, doesn’t matter how apologetic he is about it. He knows in his bones that Hanzo’s going to keep doing it. And good for him, if he’s got some kind of fulfilling career, but Jesse needs somebody who knows how to separate work from everything else. Someone who knows how to relax. Someone who won’t always have one foot out the door.

He glances at the message again, and suddenly all he can think about is Hanzo’s mouth. 

“Goddamn it,” he mutters as he types in his address.

It takes Hanzo forty-five minutes, but he arrives with crème brûlée and a not-inexpensive bottle of bourbon. His clothes are a lot more rumpled than when he left the restaurant; he looks damn good like that. The dessert is decadent and the liquor pairs surprisingly well, but Hanzo seems to know Jesse didn’t really invite him over for those things. 

Hanzo’s lips taste like bourbon and burnt sugar, and Jesse doesn’t want to pull away even long enough to move from the couch, much less make it all the way to the bedroom. He pushes Hanzo down against the cushions and splays fingers along his jaw, holding him steady while Jesse licks the addictive taste from his mouth. 

* * *

They try another date, and Hanzo texts to call it off right as Jesse’s about to leave the house. He texts again later that night. Then he fucks Jesse so thoroughly that Jesse’s grateful he’s got two entire days off work to recuperate. 

What they’re doing now probably doesn’t count as dating. That has not stopped him from having Hanzo over four separate times now. It’s fun. He’s gotten used to the idea, and honestly, it’s the most they should have aimed for to begin with. Dating is hard. This is easy. 

“Sure,” Fareeha says with a yawn after he assures her again that this is exactly what he wants. 

The fifth time they get together at Jesse’s place, he’s kissing his way down a pair of finely built pecs and slipping Hanzo’s leather belt from its loops when Hanzo’s phone starts to ring. Jesse gets a distressed smile and another round of apologies for his trouble, then he’s abandoned to nurse his blue balls alone. 

“I am the last person to talk about boy troubles with,” Fareeha groans. “That’s Ashe’s job. Wait for her shift.”

“She’s not comin’ in until tomorrow.”

Fareeha makes a disgusted noise, giving him a glare he can read clearly even through her dark sunglasses. “Fine. She would probably use the word ‘dickmatized’ and tell you to date someone else. There you go. Problem solved.”

“It’s really not.”

“Oh no? Name one positive quality he has. If you say something gross, I’m not talking to you for a week.” She holds up a finger before Jesse can answer. “In fact, you can’t say anything physical.”

That cuts off all the immediate answers Jesse could give. He scratches the back of his neck. “He’s… hard-working?”

Fareeha can only hold her glare for so long before she bursts into laughter and calls him a lost cause. He almost misses Liz, even if Fareeha’s right about the whole “dickmatized” thing. That’s exactly what she’d say. 

He forgets the conversation by that evening, when Hanzo texts him again.

* * *

The thing is, the signals Hanzo gives off don’t always convince Jesse it’s just about sex. For one, he doesn’t always disappear immediately after. Jesse knows he should say no to begin with, or ignore him, and if he can’t do either of those things, he knows he should kick Hanzo out of bed as soon as they’re finished. Self-preservation dictates that if he’s going to commit to some satisfying-yet-unsatisfying fuckbuddy situation, the least he can do is enforce consistent boundaries.

Instead, Hanzo lingers, and Jesse doesn’t stop him, and sometimes they talk. “What do you do for a livin’ anyway?”

“I work for a technology company,” Hanzo says with a shrug. 

“So you’re a programmer or something?” That at least seems like it _might_ explain some of the weird hours. 

“No, more like a manager.” There’s a funny hesitation before the last word. “It is hard to explain.”

“What, like I’m too dumb to know what you do?”

Hanzo laughs, and he strokes a finger down Jesse’s cheek. “No, like it is difficult to explain to _anyone.”_ He uses the finger to guide Jesse to face him. “And what do you do when you are not mounting daring rescues?”

Jesse smiles uneasily. He sort of assumed that was what Hanzo was after. Maybe he just likes the bragging rights that come with fucking a local celebrity, and as soon as everyone has forgotten what Jesse did, Hanzo will forget this arrangement too. “Read a lot. Blogging, sometimes? Got a guitar I fool around with. I like to cook, too.”

Hanzo’s eyes are wide and focused, like he’s actively listening, like Jesse listing his hobbies is something worth more than small talk. “I am a terrible cook, but I can handle some basic things.”

“Yeah? Like what?” 

“I make excellent scrambled eggs.”

“Is that an offer to make me breakfast?”

Hanzo hums and smiles, which is probably meant as some kind of answer, then Jesse figures kissing is more fun than any awkward conversation or overthinking everything. He turns toward Hanzo, then he mouths his way down the side of his neck, soothing the skin where it’s still red from Jesse’s stubble. 

Hanzo’s phone goes off at four in the morning, and he never does make breakfast.

* * *

The sun is lingering just below the horizon, like it’s still thinking of going back to bed. Hanzo left less than an hour ago, after revealing the extent of his flexibility in a manner that rendered Jesse temporarily speechless. Jesse didn’t sleep long enough and he’s pleasantly sore all over, but he’s out by the water for a run anyway. This close to dawn is one of the few times he actually gets to enjoy the beach, when it’s still too early and too cool out and other people are scarce. 

The peace lasts all of ten minutes. Then the ground at Jesse’s feet begins to shake. The water, previously rolling gently against the shoreline, begins to slap at the sand, disturbed by something farther out. 

“Son of a bitch,” Jesse groans.

He should be relieved to be on land this time. At least he can run. But the water churns and boils, and the thing rushes to shore, faster than it has any right to be with its terrifying metal limbs pinwheeling and flopping. Sand flies as Jesse darts as quickly as he can away from the water, but he’s almost unsurprised when one cold metal tentacle snags his ankle and yanks his feet out from under him. 

He catches himself on his forearms, but it’s a miracle he doesn’t bite his tongue off hitting the ground as hard as he does. It’s dragging him back toward the water. He’s gotten lucky twice now; he doubts it will happen a third time. He spits sand out of his mouth and he tries to crawl away, but it doesn’t change a damn thing. 

He’s going to die like this, with his hair still recovering from that home bleach job, his shirt rucked up under his armpits, and sand in every crevice of his body, teeth included. When he’s gone, everyone’s going to make jokes about the tentacles. It will be the most remarkable thing about him. 

The obituary will be short: _Beach bum dies to mechanical octopus. Leaves behind nothing and no one._

It’s humiliating. 

The water is cold and lapping at the lower hem of his jogging shorts when there’s a vicious, shrill twisting of metal, and the thing stops dragging him. He wipes sand from his face with equally sandy hands, spluttering, but he’s able to see well enough. 

Cyberninja is close and running closer, one arm glowing as he launches arrows that were not there a moment ago, rapid fire, into all eight of its limbs. There’s an arrow poking from its eye. Another from the odd beak just visible above the water. Several lodged in the thing’s head. He has to be looking for what shuts the omnic down, summoning one glowing arrow after another to launch into the metal plating. 

The thing is one giant pin cushion before it finally stops moving altogether. Then the vigilante is at Jesse’s side. “You again!” Cyberninja says. “Have you considered a career change?” 

Despite everything, Jesse laughs. “This wasn’t even work, this time. I was just out for a jog.” He tugs his shirt back into place, and he tries to be subtle about spitting sand out. He also tries not to think about Cyberninja’s hands on him, fingers curled just below the knee as he tries to pry the coiled tentacle away. 

“Perhaps a new jogging route, then.” 

“You killed it this time, didn’t you?”

“I thought I got rid of it twice before.” Jesse lets out a long breath as he finally gets his leg free. It’s bruised as hell, but it doesn’t look or feel like it’s damaged in any lasting way. “Are you going to be alright? Is there someone you can call to pick you up?” 

“I’ll be fine. I’m not worried about all that.”

A tiny line forms between Cyberninja’s eyebrows. It’s funny, how it makes Jesse want to smooth it out. How familiar it feels. He chalks that one up to his imagination, though; he’s been seeing Cyberninja’s face everywhere since their first meeting. 

“I would feel better if I knew you were not going to be alone.”

“Aww, you’re worried for me!” Jesse laughs. “Not gettin’ attached, are you?” He smiles before he can help it. It’s the one he uses when he’s flirting. He wonders what the hell he’s doing. 

Cyberninja picks up the same vibe, if the way his eyes widen is any indication. He looks away quickly, then he rises to his feet in one smooth motion. “I am sure you have someone who can help. A friend, a sibling. A significant other?” He pulls Jesse to his feet, then he puts distance between them again.

The flirting wasn’t even intentional, just some friendly banter, but Jesse still knows when he’s being turned down. The guy doesn’t have to rub it in. Between that and the suggestion that Hanzo might ever be the kind of man who would drop whatever he’s doing to rush to Jesse’s side, the laugh that escapes is pretty cynical. “Sure. I’ll think of somebody.”

His heart clenches at the look in Cyberninja’s eyes, like he pities Jesse so much that it hurts. They’re spared from any further conversation by the reporters beginning to swarm. 

* * *

Jesse’s face is already all over the morning shows by the time he gets home. He also has a handful of text messages, mostly coworkers and friends that have seen the news. Two in particular stress him out. 

There’s one from Liz asking, _you okay?_ It’s followed up ten minutes later by, _congratulations? lol?_ and a screenshot of a disreputable gossip site. They have a still photo of Cyberninja, crouched in front of Jesse with a hand on his knee, and Jesse smiling _that_ smile at him. He knows what the article is going to imply even before he reads the lede. 

_Local lifeguard saved again by Cyberninja. Do they share more than a passion for saving lives?_

“Oh, fuck me,” he mumbles.

He saves Hanzo’s message for last. He’s almost afraid it’s going to say something about the gossip. Somehow he doubts Hanzo reads that kind of thing, but it doesn’t stop the pang of guilt Jesse feels. The smile in that photo says it all.

[Hanzo]: I saw the news. Are you alright? 

[Jesse]: I’m fine. Just rattled. 

He’s expecting another text or something, but instead, he gets a phone call. “Do you need anything?” Hanzo asks as soon as the greetings are finished. There’s no easy answer. A part of Jesse is thrilled by the offer, wants it to be some indication that Hanzo might be willing to drop everything just to see him. He knows better than to get his hopes up, though. “I can come over, if you like.”

It is, in fact, everything he has learned _not_ to expect from Hanzo. “You don’t have to work?”

“Not right now.”

Jesse should take it at face value, he thinks. It’s what he realized he’s been missing. Hanzo is gorgeous, and he’s smart, and as frustrating as his disappearances can be, he works hard. But Jesse is hung up on the fact that he’s surprised by the offer, and he can’t stop thinking about how, when he looked the possibility of his own death in the face, he still thought of himself as alone. 

The television is murmuring in the background, too low to be distracting under normal circumstances, but they’re showing the footage again: Jesse smiling, then Cyberninja pulling him to his feet. It’s weird to see his own face on the TV, and weirder to see it and know how _obvious_ he is even from the outside. Cyberninja glances away, but it’s out toward the water, away from the camera. It’s easy to imagine any number of expressions on his face. 

Jesse closes his eyes and breathes. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Oh.” There’s a quiet sigh from the other end of the line, and it sounds resigned more than anything else. Like this is what he expected. Jesse wonders how many times Hanzo’s job has gotten in the way. “I suppose you do not only mean right now.”

“Listen, I like you. It’s been fun. But I’m not interested in just spinnin’ my wheels. I’d like to be with somebody I can actually take on a date. You know, in public, at a reasonable hour, without gettin’ stood up. I’m glad you got ambitions, but you’re not that guy, are you?” Jesse tries to laugh, but it sounds more frustrated than he means it to. “We’ve been at it for weeks, and I don’t even know your last name.”

“Shimada. You never asked. I assumed you figured it out on your own.”

“No, why would I—” He nearly bites his own tongue off when the information sinks in. Shimada Enterprises is only one of the biggest names in the whole tech industry, inherited and co-owned by two brothers. The younger of the two is notorious enough even Jesse’s heard of some of his antics, and the eldest just as famously keeps himself as far out of the spotlight as possible. “You called yourself a _manager,”_ he accuses. 

“I’m sorry. I am not accustomed to…” There’s an unsteady breath on the other end. “I suppose it no longer matters.”

Jesse flinches at that, but Hanzo’s right. It throws a lot of things about their pseudo-relationship into a new light, but it doesn’t change that Hanzo has flaked out on him and can’t guarantee it won’t keep happening. It doesn’t change that Jesse was so disinvested that he was flirting with somebody else. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re a good guy. But I think we want different things.” He winces again at how lame it sounds, but it’s as gentle as he knows how to be.

“Thank you. Goodbye, Jesse.”

* * *

This time, Reinhardt _forces_ Jesse to take time off. He’s trying to be nice, to make sure Jesse recovers from injuries both physical and psychological, but all that free time makes the breakup that much harder to handle. 

He was the one who called it off. Somehow this does not make it easier. There’s a part of him that suspects he broke up with a decent guy because of his crush on a completely unattainable superhero, and the rest of his reasons existed only to rationalize it after the fact. It feels not unlike admitting he broke up with somebody real to pursue an imaginary friend. 

In the face of his persistent doubts, he reminds himself of the several hours he wasted waiting on Hanzo to show up for their first date, and of the times Hanzo left in the middle of things, and of the offers for things Hanzo never fulfilled. When that doesn’t do the trick, he starts digging into Shimada Enterprises, looking for some dirt that might make Hanzo into something, _anything,_ worse than a handsome, wealthy, incredibly fit man who’s great in bed.

The public face of the company isn’t either of the brothers, but instead one Satya Vaswani, head of research and development, who by all accounts has the place running like a well-oiled machine. There are some hints at shady practices way in the past, but the worst they can be accused of since the brothers inherited is a few hostile takeovers of smaller companies. 

There are probably hundreds of photographs of the younger brother, Genji, with a veritable rainbow of hair colors, a different date on his arm every time. Most often, the photos catch him making one questionable life choice or another. Photos of Hanzo are few and far between, typically taken at some charity event. He looks good in a tux, but that’s all anyone could glean from a picture of him. All those respectable pictures certainly don’t scream _I pick up strangers on the beach and fuck like a demon._ Gentleman on the streets and all that, Jesse figures.

When they aren’t developing cutting edge technologies, Shimada Enterprises funnel a frankly ridiculous chunk of profits into philanthropy. Most of the projects in question are aimed at education programs and aiding children, in particular developing and providing custom prostheses for kids whose families otherwise couldn’t afford them. Jesse feels a pang of guilt at the thought that Hanzo left him hanging because he was working on feeding starving orphans or caring for disabled kittens or something. In short, researching Hanzo turns up nothing but reasons to wonder if Jesse is the real problem.

He says as much over drinks, and Fareeha rolls her eyes. “That’s stupid. He was only around on his schedule, not yours. If he doesn’t respect your time, he doesn’t respect you.”

Liz slurps loudly at her straw, coming up with nothing but air and an obnoxious noise to go with it. “Hate to say it, but she’s right. He can be a good guy and shit boyfriend material at the same time.” She hiccups. “Still mad you didn’t get him to buy you a car first, though.” 

They quickly change the subject after that, because the point was to get him out of his house and his own head, not to dwell on his possible mistakes. There are much more fun things to do, like watch Liz collect as many dance partners as possible in one evening, or watch Fareeha boldly buy a woman a drink only to get flustered the moment she returns the interest. He meets some strangers, gets dragged around the dance floor, drinks more than is smart, and obtains two different phone numbers, neither of which come from people who look anything like Hanzo.

It’s a nice night. Even if the kind of bar he usually prefers is more likely to have a beat-up pool table than a dance floor, it feels good to be around people. It feels good to do something that isn’t about work or exes. 

There’s a patio out back for the smokers. This is where he finds himself around midnight, stepping out for a breather. There’s almost nobody out here, just a few couples loitering in the corners, a young man gesticulating wildly as he explains something to his friends, and somebody who looks like they might have passed out. 

“Hey, you’re that guy!” someone says. It’s a lanky blond man, taller than Jesse by a head if it weren’t for the hunched way he stands. “The lifeguard.” He giggles like he’s drunk.

As much fun as the recognition has been, something about the stranger puts him off. “Think you got the wrong guy.”

“Oh no, it’s definitely you. Don’t toy with me.” 

Jesse sighs and puts on the friendliest smile he can muster. “Yeah, you caught me. That’s me.”

“What’s it like to meet a superhero?”

“Uh, it’s fine, I guess.”

“Oh, sure, ‘fine’.” He leans in closer. “And what’s it like to date one?” 

Jesse grits his teeth. “I’m not.”

“You already lied once. You sure about that?”

“You really believe everything you read in the gossip rags? That one ain’t true.”

The man narrows his eyes, and Jesse suddenly wonders if he might be an actual threat. Then he giggles again, although this time it sounds more unhinged than before. “It’s true he comes for you every time, innit?” 

Jesse blames the alcohol for making him so slow to react. By the time he realizes it’s a threat, the patio is suspiciously empty of most of the guests. The stranger reaches for him and Jesse lashes out. 

The hook lands hard and sends the man stumbling. “Hog, he’s gonna break my pretty face!” he shrieks. 

The hand that clamps down around Jesse’s wrist makes his own look like a child’s in comparison. Then he’s yanked back and crushed against a solid mountain of a body. No amount of straining seems to make a difference. A wet rag slaps his face, held in place by one of those enormous hands. 

It smells weirdly sweet, tastes it too where it gets in his mouth. He thrashes his head and tries to hold his breath, but nothing sets him free. Eventually he has to suck in a huge gulp of air. 

The man in front of him straightens, prodding delicately at his bruising cheek. “Hate to upset your evening, but we’ve got business with your boyfriend.” 

It takes a lot longer than it does in the movies, but eventually Jesse’s mind and vision both begin to blur, and he drifts off. 


	3. Meanwhile...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to mataglap and YourAverageJoke for reassuring me that the POV switch was a good idea.

Hanzo knew he wanted Jesse the moment they met. 

Jesse has no superpowers. His body is strong enough for a typical person’s, and it is pleasing to look at, but there is no superhuman advantage. No genetic anomaly to give him an edge, no exposure to strange chemicals or radiation or celestial minerals, no access to hyper-advanced or extraterrestrial technologies. He dove into that water anyway, against odds far worse than he could have prepared for, and all for someone else’s sake. Yet he remains perplexingly unaware of how remarkable that is.

Jesse’s apparent lack of interest in Hanzo’s wealth is also novel. He has never minded expressing his affection through the things money can buy, but most of his dating partners seem to have some expectations about it. He is not foolish enough to believe Jesse is particularly interested in his  _ personality,  _ but still, being desired simply as himself is refreshing.

He doesn’t know what compelled him to text Jesse that first time. His original intent was to heed Genji’s advice to  _ hit it and quit it,  _ but he has never been very good at that sort of thing. Not that he is any good at dating either.

The work gets in the way. It always does. When it is not stealing all his time, it paralyzes him with the fear that anyone attached to him will be in danger through their association. He thinks it will be easier to commit to only sex, to hold Jesse at arm’s length. It should be, except that some instinct within him always rebels, yearning for something more than he has, until they are locked in an unsatisfactory dance.

Hanzo is too selfish to stop chasing the parts that still feel good, too afraid to let Jesse in on the truth, and too cowardly to end things. 

He knows it’s only a matter of time before Jesse does it for him. He predicts it long before the moment on the beach, when Jesse flirts one second then looks unhappy the next, when he implies that he has no one he can rely on. Even Jesse’s final words are unsurprising: “For what it’s worth, I think you’re a good guy. But I think we want different things.”

Hanzo has heard it before. There was Thuy, who said, “I see our paths going in different directions.” Then there was Alexei, who began with the classic, “It’s not you, it’s me. But I need more.” Marjani and Sōgen both told him bluntly, “You’re never around.” It is something of a recurring theme, when he is not the one who calls things off. 

He doesn’t begrudge Jesse the choice. How can he? He only wishes he could have delayed the inevitable a bit longer.

He is not able to summon any anger about the breakup. Instead he is left to wonder how things could have gone if he chose differently. It leaves an itch under his skin, a restlessness during all the time he would have filled with Jesse. It is incredible how quickly he adapted to another person taking up space in his schedule, and how slowly he is adjusting to the empty time slots. 

It is tempting to hide from his problems in alcohol, but the same pressures that got in the way with Jesse also get in the way here. Instead, he speaks to the one person he trusts to respond sensibly.

Satya doesn’t address his relationship woes directly. That would be unlike her. No, she cuts straight to one of the problems beneath. “It does not always have to be you, you know,” she says without looking up from her desk.

“What does that mean?”

“It means you are not the only vigilante in this city.”

He scoffs. “I cannot trust someone else to do it in my place.”

“This is the same thing you said before you handed me the reins. Has that worked out badly? Shall I resign?” She does look up now, one perfectly groomed brow rising high. 

“Of course not. But you are exceptional.”

“And superheroes are not?” She tuts quietly, shaking her head. “I will take the compliment as it is intended, but you are not obligated to solve every problem in this city. You are allowed to enjoy yourself. You can take time off.”

“I thought I was the boss,” he jokes, trying to lighten the mood.

She smirks. “In name, perhaps.” 

Her advice is, as he hoped, perfectly sensible. He also has no intention of heeding it. Work becomes his escape until he is able to forget all things related to Jesse McCree.

* * *

The forgetting does not go as planned.

_ We have your boyfriend. Come alone. _

Hanzo rereads the note for what feels like the hundredth time, then he glares up at his brother. “And you did not see who sent it?”

“I am not an amateur.” Genji rolls his eyes. “If I had seen more than the van, I would have told you.” Hanzo scowls at the letter again, turning it over. It showed up at one of the news stations, delivered to a reporter who covers the superhero beat. They both use her for tips from time to time. Genji was quick to retrieve the note before it could become wider knowledge. “Is this a good time to mention Cyberninja doesn’t  _ have  _ a boyfriend?”

Hanzo never did tell Genji about Jesse. The comment stings more than his brother realizes, but Hanzo brushes it aside. “That has not stopped the gossip mongers from speculating.” 

“Oh. The lifeguard. He’s like a magnet for trouble, huh?”

“So it would seem.” 

He can feel the tension in his brow, the way his eyes narrow, and he can’t control it. Genji certainly notices. “Is there somehow a problem  _ other  _ than some poor guy getting kidnapped because he has been mistaken for your boyfriend?”

He braces himself for the fallout that is sure to follow. “This… may mean they know who Cyberninja is.”

There’s a beat of silence, followed by Genji’s cackle. “You didn’t.” Hanzo winces. “You  _ did!” _

“It’s— ‘Boyfriend’ may be overstating the case, but— We were— I don’t have to explain this to you.”

Genji does not seem to hear him. He is too busy pretending to be scandalized. “You actually tried to date him? That is  _ not  _ the advice I gave you.”

“You give terrible advice. I improvised.” 

“How did that work out?” Genji asks with a smug smile, acutely aware of Hanzo’s failings in these endeavors.

“Well, I still do not have a boyfriend.” What he has instead is an ex who never even made it to the boyfriend stage, but who spent enough time with Hanzo that it feels odd to think of Jesse as somehow less than that. Jesse seems to believe he was less than that, which is one more way that Hanzo got it wrong.

Worse, the breakup didn’t even spare Jesse from the most dangerous part of dating a superhero. He broke things off, but he is still vulnerable as long as he is associated with Hanzo. 

“So do they want a ransom from you, or is this a trap for Cyberninja?” Genji asks, breaking his miserable train of thought.

“I suppose I will have to meet them to find out.”

“You’re not walking into a trap alone.”

Hanzo wants to protest his younger brother trying to boss him around, but a plan begins to form. “Of course not. Get dressed.”

* * *

As requested, Cyberninja arrives in the evening at the address he was given. It is a small workshop located downtown, sandwiched between several local stores with apartments above. It is only a few blocks from the marina where he recently wasted several hours tracking an omnic inventor who attempted to steal one of Satya’s prototypes. The reminder stings now; that was the night he called off his final attempt at taking Jesse on any sort of real date, and his failure to find the omnic in question remains salt in the wound. 

Ironic that they should set up here, a reminder of the ways Hanzo has failed to be there when Jesse needed him. He is not superstitious enough to take it as a sign, but still, some part of him lingers on the thought. 

A short, dust-covered man in black interrupts his navel-gazing to wave him inside. It is almost certainly a trap, but until Genji signals that he has Jesse, Hanzo’s goal is to waste as much of their time as possible. He waits inside while the man places a phone call, likely to whoever hired him. 

Junkrat and Roadhog enter through the same door that Hanzo used. He is unsure whether to be relieved or not. There are worse villains in this city: others more intelligent, more vicious. Those who would have sent a finger or toe to confirm Jesse’s existence. Those who would have killed him upon Cyberninja’s arrival, then brought the building down on him.

The danger with these two lies in their unpredictability. Junkrat is a madman. Roadhog isn’t, but he enables the lunacy, which might be worse. 

Junkrat giggles. “See, Roadie? I told you he’d come.” 

Roadhog only grunts.

“What do you want?” Hanzo asks, doing his best to hide his sigh. Junkrat is at his worst when he believes he isn’t being taken seriously. 

“You stole from us, so we stole from you,” Junkrat sing-songs. Then he glares, serious and deadly in an instant. “We want it back. Then you can have him, if we let him live that long.”

Roadhog does sigh. “We will.”

“I want proof that he is alive and well.”

Junkrat rolls his eyes, then he unclips a two-way radio from his belt. “Oi. Lifeguard. Pick up.”

“Yeah?” Even through the static, even with only a single syllable, Jesse’s voice is distinctive enough. Hanzo refuses to let himself react visibly; he can feel Roadhog’s piercing eyes on him, and there is no telling how much the man sees.

“Your man is here. Tell him—”

“Are you injured?” Hanzo interrupts. Junkrat glares at him, but he’s too slow to remove his finger from the transmitter to cut Hanzo off.

“No, I’m alright.”

“Tell him what good hosts we’ve been.”

The receiver picks up on the tail end of a sigh. “Yeah, they fed me and all. I’m not hurt. Stuck me on a couch. Guess it’s pretty cushy for a kidnapping.” Hanzo wants very badly to smirk, but both the situation and the recent breakup intrude to remind him why appreciating Jesse’s sense of humor is not in his best interests. Then Jesse’s voice changes, softer than before. “You really came for—”

Junkrat cuts off the transmission and clips the radio back to his belt. It’s almost a relief; this is complicated enough without the reminder that Jesse still seems interested when he’s Cyberninja. 

“You heard him,” Junkrat says. “He’s safe and sound, long as you cooperate. Now. Where’s our treasure?”

“Back in the museum where it belongs.” Junkrat looks aghast, as if that isn’t  _ exactly  _ the sort of thing superheroes do. “Just because you think a statue looks like you, does not mean it belongs to you.”

“Got a point,” Roadhog says.

“But we stole it fair and square.”

“And I returned it. In any case, I do not have it, and it is halfway across the world by now.” Hanzo fights to keep his hands at his sides, because otherwise he risks hitting one of them.

“Well, that’s too bad, then.” Junkrat pulls out what looks like a detonator. “He was alright.”

“Wait!” Hanzo shouts before he can stop himself. Junkrat’s eyebrow raises, his thumb hovering over a glaring red button on the device. “It is famous, right? I can’t get you the original, but perhaps, if you let him go, I can procure a very good replica.” He knows he sounds ridiculous. Every part of him is seething, desperate to grab the detonator and beat Junkrat bloody. He has not yet gotten the signal from Genji, though, which could mean any number of things. “I am sure there are fine sculptors in the city, or we could find one online.” 

“Life-sized?”

Hanzo suppresses an irritable growl. “Yes. A life-sized replica of the statue. Or we can have a sculptor create one of you.” 

“Sounds expensive,” Roadhog says. The likelihood that this is about his personal life seems slimmer now. If Roadhog is concerned about the cost of a sculpture, surely he does not know that Cyberninja and Shimada Hanzo are the same man. They have not asked for a ransom, either, and even someone as capricious as Junkrat would demand real money if he knew it came from an easy source.

“I have connections. I will work something out.” The communicator begins to buzz against his thigh, a pattern of long and slow vibrations that tell him Genji has done his part. All that is left now is to ensure Junkrat and Roadhog do not blow up the building once they realize their hostage has disappeared. “Do we have a deal? You release the lifeguard, I find you a sculptor?”

Junkrat puts on an exaggerated show of thinking it over. “What do you think, Hog?” 

“Your call.”

“That’s all?” Junkrat turns his steely gaze on his partner.

Roadhog’s posture is suddenly erect. “Is this about the authenticity of the art or its reproduction of your visage? It’s no good if you want the authentic piece, but if it’s only about getting a statue of yourself, his deal is a better outcome than if he’d let you keep the original.” As soon as he is finished, he slouches and falls back into his more customary silence. Hanzo does not stare, but it is a matter of extraordinary willpower.

“Well, when you put it that way.” Junkrat snaps his fingers. “We have a deal!”

He thrusts his remaining original hand out toward Hanzo. It also means that he steps within arm’s reach. It’s the perfect time to hit him. 

The punch lands with a satisfying crunch. Junkrat reels, clutching at his face, and Hanzo snatches the detonator from him. Roadhog is going for his weapon, but Hanzo puts Junkrat between them both, kicking his legs out from under him. He drags him along as he backs out the door. Junkrat bucks and kicks and drips blood from his nose onto Hanzo’s arm, but for all his height, he can’t get his footing back or compete with Hanzo’s sheer muscle. 

He pulls Junkrat out onto the sidewalk. Junkrat flails and slaps feebly at the arm around his neck, but Hanzo keeps squeezing, cutting off the blood flow. He’s still plotting his next move when he spots Genji and Jesse. “What is he doing here?” Hanzo grits out.

“Where else was I supposed to put him?” Genji asks.

“‘Put’ me?”

“Somewhere  _ safe,”  _ Hanzo growls.

“Well, he will be safe here after we have beaten up these idiots.”

“Y’all, I’m right here,” Jesse starts, then Roadhog comes crashing through the doorway after his partner, now with their hired hands at his back. 

Hanzo unceremoniously drops Junkrat’s limp body, then he dives out of the way of Roadhog’s hook. To his left, Genji knocks out two of the henchmen. On the other side, Hanzo sees Jesse land a blow on one of them. His form could use work, but it looks like he hits hard and isn’t completely out of his element. He appears tired and in need of a shower, but he doesn’t look or move like he is injured.

Genji pushes Hanzo out of the way of one of Roadhog’s shots. “You are distracted. Take him and go.” 

Hanzo wants to scoff at the idea, especially as he disarms one woman. There are only a handful left standing, and two are encroaching on Jesse. Satya’s voice intrudes into a mind that should be focused on the battle:  _ It doesn’t always have to be you.  _ More importantly, he realizes that if he and Jesse run, the enemies will have to choose whether to follow, and that’s a distraction Genji can use.

“Good luck,” he says, then he dashes for Jesse, taking down one of the men on him while Jesse shoves away another. “Come on.” 

Several of the lackeys choose pursuit. No matter how much he trusts his brother’s competence in a fight, it’s a relief to know he isn’t leaving Genji vastly outnumbered. Jesse runs quickly, too; Hanzo barely has to slow down to keep the same pace, and only one of them has superpowers giving him a boost. 

When they reach the side street where he and Genji parked their motorcycles, he grabs hold of Jesse’s arm and puts on a sudden burst of speed. They have enough distance on their pursuers, but a little more cannot hurt. Jesse eyes the black sport bike skeptically, but he takes the helmet without any argument. 

Jesse doesn’t have to be told to hold on before Hanzo speeds away. His arms go tight and he leans in close, which is one more distraction Hanzo cannot afford to indulge. A glance in the mirror shows Roadhog’s henchmen, still on foot, fading into the distance, shortly before another motorcycle appears. At first, Hanzo thinks it’s Genji, but when another two show up behind it, he knows what this is. 

He ducks low and shifts gears, coaxing the machine into accelerating. He zips through the city with Jesse at his back, veering sharply around corners and weaving through traffic. Twice, he thinks the chase is up only to see a bike rounding the corner behind him. He keeps the path erratic, no destination in mind but whatever keeps him ahead of their pursuants. 

He loses track of time like that, Jesse’s warm weight against his back the only thing grounding him. It’s exhilarating. Under normal circumstances, it might even be  _ fun.  _

Eventually he finds himself wondering if he should have offered something like this when he and Jesse were still seeing each other. Surely there was a way to squeeze it in. Perhaps if he leaned into the spontaneity, Jesse might be more forgiving of his other inadequacies. 

Hanzo scoffs to himself. If he has time to let his thoughts wander, the need to be on high alert is over. He double checks the mirrors and sees no one suspicious for a time, so he slows down.

He can’t take Jesse home. Cyberninja wouldn’t know where to go. So he takes him to the only place he can think of: the parking lot nearest Jesse’s part of the beach. By now it is dark enough that there aren’t any people out, and they are far enough from the water that it remains a gentle white noise in the distance. 

He can feel Jesse shifting behind him as he pulls to a stop, then he lets the engine idle, holding steady as Jesse dismounts. While he waits for Jesse to take the helmet off, Hanzo checks the communicator. Genji sent him a selfie for which the backdrop is Junkrat and Roadhog tied up with their cronies. 

“Your kidnappers have been taken care of.”

Jesse shoves a hand through his hair. It should be suffering from the helmet and the sweat and however long it has been since he showered, but much like the unfortunate choice of color, there is something endearing about it instead. “Maybe ‘thanks’ isn’t enough, but… thanks, really.” 

“Think nothing of it.”

“I know you save people all the time, but I didn’t expect you to come for me. Didn’t expect you to  _ remember _ me.”

It feels like a trap regardless of the sincerity of Jesse’s sentiment. Possibly even because of it. Yet he is standing there, rolling the helmet anxiously between his hands, and Hanzo cannot stop himself from saying, “You are very memorable.” 

It’s a mistake. He knows it the moment it leaves his mouth. It is only compounded by the way Jesse looks at him then, that mix of disbelief and hopeful affection. Hanzo wants Jesse to look at  _ him  _ that way, not at whoever Jesse sees when he looks at Cyberninja. 

The day’s events have made it clear why that is a terrible idea. Junkrat and Roadhog are hardly the worst of the villains this city has to offer. He thinks again about his relief to discover Jesse was uninjured, about his certainty that someone else would have done so much worse. 

“I should go,” Hanzo says. “Do you have a way home?”

“It’s only about a block that way.” Jesse points a thumb back over his shoulder, never taking his eyes off Hanzo. Then he smiles, a tentative and hopeful thing. “Not that I’d mind a ride, if you’re willin’.”

“You were only kidnapped because they believed we had some connection. Your neighbors don’t need further reason to speculate.”

“Right.” Jesse nods and thrusts the helmet at him, but when Hanzo moves to take it from him, he doesn’t let go right away. Jesse looks determined as he meets Hanzo’s eye, braver than he has any reason to be, as always. “Do we? Have some kinda connection?”

It’s another minefield to navigate. He wants to give Jesse the answer he’s looking for, but that means validating a false hope. “No,” he lies. He tells himself it is for the best, even as Jesse’s face shutters off. “It is better for you that way,” he says, unsure who he is trying to convince.

Jesse lets go of the helmet, and he shoves his hands into his pockets. “Of course.” His smile is understanding, and it is obviously false. “Thanks again. I’ll try to keep outta trouble this time.”

“Goodbye, Jesse,” Hanzo says quietly. 


	4. Off the Lip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adding this chapter at the same time as the epilogue, so if you’re catching up with the latest update, it starts here!

Jesse can’t think of anything more dramatic than a mopey asshole explaining that what’s good for someone else is if they have no connection. Maybe it was a way of softening the blow by externalizing the blame: it’s not that _Jesse_ isn’t right for Cyberninja, it’s just that circumstances dictate they can’t. It sounds like a load of horseshit, honestly, but it’s not like he can appeal the verdict. His pride won’t allow it. 

It’s easier to be annoyed than to let it eat at him in other ways, so that’s the feeling Jesse indulges. 

This doesn’t stop the final goodbye from ringing in his ears. Doesn’t stop him from wondering if Cyberninja learned his name from the headlines or some other way. Sometimes the words overlap with Hanzo’s in his head. 

He’s also annoyed to discover he _misses_ Hanzo. He missed him while kidnapped and he misses him now. It seems unfair to do anything about it in his current state, though; he can’t say if he misses the person or simply _any_ person. The emptiness of his house combined with the sting of Cyberninja’s rejection leave him to wonder how it would be different if he’d only asked Hanzo to make some room for him in his busy schedule instead of dumping him outright. 

He blames all his Hanzo thoughts on Sentai. 

_The door swings open, and one of the henchmen falls through, landing face down on the floor with a groan. Jesse’s heart is pounding by the time his hero walks through. Then he blinks rapidly, uncertain how to react._

_“What? Were you expecting someone else?” Sentai sounds amused. He doesn’t wait for an answer before he moves to Jesse’s side, working at the lock at his ankle._

_“Where’s Cyberninja?”_

_“Keeping them occupied.” The cuff around Jesse’s ankle clearly gives him trouble; he cycles through several different styles of lockpick. “Too much trouble for one lifeguard, if you ask me.”_

“Did _anyone ask you?”_

_“Ooh, he has an attitude.” There’s something about Sentai’s voice that is eminently punchable. “Is that any way to talk to your savior?” The shackle on Jesse’s ankle falls to the floor, then he goes for the handcuffs._

_“Sorry. Haven’t really eaten in a while. And I was expecting… you know.”_

_“Mm, someone less interesting?” He sounds like he’s smirking. Jesse just knows his face has to be as punchable as his voice._

_“Someone who ain’t in light-up sneakers.”_

_“At least my name makes sense. Have you ever seen Cyberninja use a cyber-anything?”_

_Jesse blinks. “Doesn’t your name refer to a whole group of people? Not just one?”_

_“It’s an_ homage _,” he protests, drawing out the word. Then he seizes Jesse’s wrist, and his head tilts so that even with the mask to obscure it, Jesse feels weirdly like they’re making eye contact. “You_ are _too much trouble. Two of this city’s greatest resources used on a single civilian. You didn’t ask, no. Nobody ever asks me. But I find that the wisest people celebrate their freedom by reflecting on things they have taken for granted.”_

_Mystified, Jesse says slowly, “I’ll keep it in mind.” Then the handcuffs unlatch._

It’s hard now not to wonder if Hanzo is the thing he took for granted. If Hanzo would have tried to help him. If he would have paid a ransom. Jesse convinced himself in captivity that Hanzo absolutely would have, no questions asked, and it eats at him now to wonder if he should have done more to try to hang onto him. 

Avoiding Hanzo is much easier than avoiding Cyberninja, but for a man who’s so good at staying out of the spotlight, his name sure does come up a lot in the news. At least, now that Jesse’s attuned to it. Every week if there’s not some superheroic rescue caught on camera, there’s something about Shimada Enterprises. Jesse can’t escape either of them. It digs under his skin and gnaws at his insides. 

He throws himself into his job, and when he isn’t at work, he keeps himself distracted. He has his usual hobbies, and he invites Fareeha and Liz over a few times, uncertain how he feels about drinking publicly after everything. 

Most days, he doesn’t feel much different. It’s not like the kidnappers hurt him. But every now and then, he thinks about that potent cocktail of boredom and dread and helplessness, and he is sure he never wants to feel that again.

From the depths of his closet, he unearths the gun he inherited from his grandmother. Back on the ranch, he mostly learned to shoot hunting rifles, but the grandfather he doesn’t remember had once been a collector, and when his grandma passed she made sure he got the Old West style six-shooter. It’s not much, but going out to the range to practice gives him a new hobby, and he remembers a lot more than he realized. Like riding a bike. 

It’s the most fulfilling new hobby he picks up to fill his free time, but it is far from the only one. He blogs more than ever. He buys a sketchbook, then he spends a lot of time glaring at things he can’t figure out how to draw. He tries his hand at macramé in order to make a plant hanger, but he mostly ends up with a wad of useless rope. The gun thing, though, that’s one he can handle.

One of the regulars at the gun range offers him a way to fill his free time. He thinks, at first, that Emily’s hitting on him when she asks what he’s doing a few weekends from now. He’s searching for a polite rejection when she explains that she works as an event planner, and there’s an upcoming fundraiser for the aquarium, and maybe the presence of a local hero from the beach would be on-theme.

He doesn’t think twice about saying yes.

When the day arrives and he finds himself standing around in his nicest suit, he might start thinking twice. The fundraiser is at a big event hall overlooking the beach, which is nice enough, but Jesse is surrounded by strangers with no one to talk to. Even his pal from the range is staying away, too busy running around to greet everyone she can or conferring with the caterers on the side.

He’s stuffing shrimp cocktail in his face when he spots the other reason he should not have come: Hanzo. Jesse should have known. His research into Shimada Enterprises _told_ him that the only time Hanzo makes a public appearance is for charity. 

Hanzo’s in a dinner jacket that Jesse almost mistakes for black, until the light hits it and it reveals a slight blue sheen. He looks as good as Jesse remembers. There’s a woman on his arm in a blue dress, coordinating in a way that can’t possibly be accidental. She is beautiful, brown skin flawless under even the worst lighting, her dark hair piled onto her head in an intricate updo, lending her a couple inches over her date.

Her name comes to Jesse from the otherwise hollow drum of his mind: Satya Vaswani. Director of research and development, public face of Shimada Enterprises. Jesse’s annoyed to realize that what he’s feeling is relief that Hanzo’s date is only his colleague. It isn’t enough relief to stop him from grabbing the nearest cocktail waiter and draining the first glass he’s handed.

He should move or something, at least get away from the tower of shrimp, but he stands frozen in place until he’s spotted. Hanzo looks confused more than anything, a brief flash of it across his face before he suppresses it. 

He doesn’t know if it’s politeness or what, but Hanzo actually says hello. 

“Uh, hi.” Jesse knows his smile is shaky. He wonders what Emily would do if he just disappeared.

They stare until Ms. Vaswani clears her throat, then Hanzo clears his, schooling his face until Jesse can no longer see the reflection of his own awkward surprise. “Ah, yes. This is Satya Vaswani, without whom I would be a very poor man. Satya, meet Jesse McCree.”

Jesse tries his best to ignore the way her eyebrows raise at the mention of his name. “Pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

“A pleasure,” she agrees, in a tone that suggests she’s not convinced. There’s another awkward beat before she says, “I don’t believe I’ve seen you at one of these functions before.”

She’s probably just being polite, looking for something neutral to say, but he can’t help but feel self-conscious, likely because of what he _is_ doing here. “Yeah, I’m… helpin’ out a friend?” Calling Emily a friend is stretching it, but he doesn’t know how to explain to _Hanzo_ that the real reason he’s here is more about how hard he’s been working to fill his free time. 

There’s a part of Jesse that’s tempted to say something, to mention that he’s missed him, but maybe that’s too weird here in such a public space, with one of Hanzo’s colleagues looking on. Hanzo looks good enough to eat, and he is right here, looking as awkward as Jesse feels and somehow still charming for it. He’s as handsome as he’s ever been, all bold angles and strong features, facial hair trimmed close to turn his jaw into one stark line. Jesse’s always liked his eyes, too, dark and intense as they are, lashes so thick and black that Jesse could forgive somebody thinking he’s got on eyeliner. 

He thinks about saying something, but he can still remember the resignation in Hanzo’s voice when he said goodbye. That one was on Jesse, not a rejection like it was with Cyberninja, but it sounded so similar. The feelings it evoked were the same. 

Hanzo glances away suddenly, taking a heavy sip of his drink. The glass and his hand combine to cover the lower half of Hanzo’s face, and something inside Jesse’s brain stutters, wires crossing. Jesse stops breathing, then there’s a hand on his arm. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” says Emily. “But the auction will be starting soon.”

“Auction?” Hanzo asks. “You’re in—”

“Yep. Just doin’ my part for a good cause.” Jesse summons a bright grin, shaking off as much of the discomfort as he can under three different pairs of eyes. “It was good to see you, Hanzo. And nice to meet you, ma’am.”

Emily tugs at his arm. “Thank you for coming, Ms. Vaswani, Mr. Shimada. If you want to keep talking, you know where he’ll be! We start in thirty minutes.”

Jesse only glances back once, but when he does, Hanzo is still looking his way, cheeks reddening as Ms. Vaswani says something with a disapproving face. Then Emily ushers him into a side room full of snacks and bottled water and an excessive number of lint rollers. There are two other people already here, lounging on the small sofa. Others trickle in, guided by Emily or one of her staff members, until there are nearly two dozen people in the room. Jesse’s pretty sure he recognizes a few of them.

Now that they’re all gathered, Emily goes back over the rules: it’s just for fun, and while they’re expected to follow through on the appointment, they get to set their own boundaries, and anyone who feels uncomfortable with their winner should come to Emily immediately. Once the auction begins, she gives the same spiel to the audience, emphasizing that it’s all innocent fun and that everyone should be respectful.

It’s a lot of nice reassurances, but it doesn’t make Jesse feel any less weird about having his time auctioned off to a stranger. He’s expecting someone to throw him a lifeline, donate fifty bucks or so, then maybe he’ll have to meet them for coffee or something. There are a lot of white-haired old women out there, and he’s sort of hoping one of them will be the winner. He resolutely does not think about who else might bid and whether he might want that.

He watches from backstage as the first few people get their dates auctioned off. There’s a professor of marine biology who goes for two hundred dollars to a person Jesse suspects is her boyfriend, then a kids’ surf instructor who nets five hundred fifty. After that is the hotel resort manager who gets a respectable six hundred, then the scuba diving teacher who starts a bidding war. She’s the first to break a thousand. This is almost definitely due to the pictures they show on the screens out there, including several of her in a bikini. 

The bids get progressively more outrageous as people settle into the auction, and Jesse’s nerves start to climb. He’s toward the end of the list, because there’s some unspoken hierarchy here. Emily’s clearly banking on bidders actually remembering Jesse saving those people, because if the hierarchy were strictly about appearances, that scuba instructor would have been the last date auctioned, not one of the first. 

It’s for a good cause. Jesse repeats this fact to himself while he watches the local weatherman peacock around the stage. He sets the new record with an intimidating five thousand, then blows a kiss to the audience on his way out.

One of the event staff guides Jesse toward the stage. He’s grateful for the lights in his face, because it means Emily is the only person he can see. He’s aware, in his periphery, that there’s a new slideshow of photos. He sent some of them to Emily himself, but a few others are ripped straight from local news stories. 

“I know you recognize this bachelor,” Emily says with a smile. “Here’s local lifeguard Jesse McCree, who has faced off against the Octo-Omnic three times now and saved at least that many innocent lives! When he’s not keeping our shores safe, Mr. McCree loves cooking, playing his guitar, and long jogs on the beach.” She goes on, exaggerating his virtues while he tries to smile and make himself look as interesting as she makes him sound. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see one of those news photos. Normally he’s not too concerned with his appearance, annoyance over the blond mistake aside. He’s in good enough shape, and he gets hit on regularly enough that it keeps his ego healthy. Here and now, with an enormous shot of him blown up for the audience’s inspection, it’s a lot harder. He can sense the weight of his prosthetic arm, imagines the scarring around it like it’s something he can still _feel._ He thinks about his tan lines and body hair and the way the shorts sit on his hips, wondering if it wouldn’t hurt to throw a few more crunches into his routine. 

Naturally, his thoughts go back to Hanzo, who has the sort of body that seems to defy everything from gravity to the caloric realities of sugar and fats and alcohol, all of which Jesse _knows_ he consumes regularly. Hanzo has a body like _that,_ and he still happily slept with Jesse. Shallow or not, their entire relationship started because Hanzo wanted to sleep with him and, Jesse’s pretty sure, sought him out for exactly that purpose. It should be the kind of thought that sends him spiraling back to that sad nostalgia, but for now, it instead makes him square his shoulders, smirking out at the audience like he’s never once given a shit about their scrutiny.

“We’ll start the bidding at five hund— There’s five hundred, do we— Okay, a thousand. A thousand five. Two thousand.” Emily laughs. “I should have practiced my patter! We’re up to three— four thousand now.” 

The number continues to climb, until Jesse is standing there shifting his weight. Best he can tell, there are three bidders locked in an intense battle, and none of them will stand down. He knows at least one is a man, though, and his heart beats faster every time he thinks that one is winning. 

He doesn’t know what he’ll do if it’s Hanzo. He tells himself it isn’t, that Hanzo’s probably still by the buffet table, writing a perfectly normal check and avoiding something as silly as a dating auction in the first place. Maybe Hanzo’s already left, the same way he was always leaving when they were together. Maybe he stepped outside to call his new boyfriend. 

_“Eleven thousand,”_ Emily says, elated. “Sold to 819, the woman in the back! Congratulations!” 

Jesse smiles, breathing out a sigh. He’s relieved that it’s over, but disappointed too. If Hanzo was ever one of the people bidding, he didn’t win. Maybe he gave up. It’s a silly thing to be upset about. Eleven thousand dollars is too much to expect _anyone_ to pay, even if they were still dating, even with all Hanzo’s wealth. 

He doesn’t know what happens next, whether he’s supposed to go down to meet his high bidder or wait for her to sign a check. It doesn’t matter.

Glass shatters in the back of the room, and someone shouts. Then the whole audience erupts into a screaming stampede. There’s something enormous out beyond the lights. Jesse’s blood turns cold.

Jesse turns to find Emily frozen at the podium, so he darts her way, trying to get her backstage. He’s just behind her, nearly to safety himself, when something huge and heavy and familiar wraps around his waist. He has just enough time to let go of her before he’s yanked off his feet. 

“You,” says a tinny, robotic voice. 

“You talk?!” Jesse asks. It’s the sort of question that makes him feel instantly stupid, but he figures the situation grants him a little leeway when it comes to keeping up with the details. The tentacle coils tighter, securing him in its grip, then hauls him back the way the creature came.

Out past the lights, he can see the screaming crowd better. Most folks have cleared out, but others linger in the corners, trying to take cover from the flailing limbs. Even panicked as he is, Jesse looks for Hanzo. He’s nowhere to be seen, but there are people scattered everywhere, some of them injured, and it brings Jesse no peace of mind. 

There’s another surge of shouting when one security guard pulls his gun and shoots. The sound rings in the event hall, the bullet screeching along the metal plating. A tentacle lashes out and sends the man flying, his gun clattering across the floor. Another snatches the next two security guards off their feet, securing more hostages. 

Then the monster scuttles back to the broken wall it came through, barely slowed by its prizes. The drop to the ground is terrifying, even if hovering in the air via tentacle cushions the landing. They move out past the event hall, away from the twinkling lights of the city, until sand is flying high enough it hits Jesse. It’s no surprise to realize the creature is taking them to the water. It is, however, enough time for Jesse to conclude that maybe Cyberninja was _right_ about looking into a new career. He doesn’t think he can keep doing this. 

As if the thought summoned him, a voice calls out over the noise of the waves and pinwheeling metal limbs. “Let them go.”

“No,” it answers simply.

“You talk?!” The creature stops moving. All Jesse can imagine is that it’s leveling Cyberninja with the same impatient look it gave him. Cyberninja shakes it off quickly, though. “Let them go,” he commands again.

When the creature doesn’t obey, an arrow flies, followed rapidly by two more. The whole thing lurches, and Jesse claws his hands into the tentacle wrapped around him, suddenly as terrified of Cyberninja winning this as he is of getting dragged into the water. Another flurry of arrows, and the thing lurches again, off balance. It drops one of its other hostages, tentacle slapping onto the ground, and it stabilizes again.

Cyberninja keeps at it, sending the thing off balance as he disarms another of its limbs, until it drops its other hostage. Jesse is the only one left. “Let him _go,”_ Cyberninja orders once more. 

“Fine.” 

It doesn’t drop Jesse. It _flings_ him, and it turns out the only thing worse than being dragged or carried or half-drowned by this thing is being _airborne._ He crashes into Cyberninja and they both go down in a pile of limbs. 

Jesse’s whole damn body hurts, and there’s sand in his mouth again, but by some insane miracle, he’s pretty sure nothing’s broken. He forces himself to move, but Cyberninja’s moving too, legs tangling until Jesse’s pretty sure he’s hurting more than helping. “Good catch,” Jesse says, nerves frayed beyond all good sense. 

Cyberninja grunts, and maybe it’s a laugh, but there’s no real time to find out. The moment he finally untangles them and gets out from under Jesse, he’s moving for his bow again. Sand flies from the strings as he sends another arrow flying, then a tentacle snaps at him and he’s forced to dodge. 

It’s hard to look away. Jesse’s frightened of course, but it’s also the first time he’s really gotten to _watch_ Cyberninja work. The tentacles dart at him, and he leaps aside like it’s an elaborate dance. Some of the creature’s limbs move stiffly, riddled with arrows as they are, but plenty are still mobile enough to give Cyberninja a hard time. Jesse creeps away from the fight carefully, trying to give Cyberninja the space to work. 

One of the tentacles spears toward him and finally connects, slashing straight through his uniform. Cyberninja grunts and stumbles, then he’s back up and shooting. Another blow lands, then another. Cyberninja’s slowing down, but Jesse’s sure the monster is too. The next hit knocks the bow from his grasp.

Jesse glares out at the creature, then at his own hands, useless as they are in this case. He’s so damn sick of feeling helpless. One of the security guards catches his eye, the man groaning on the ground. It’s not even clear if he’s conscious.

Jesse’s halfway to the guard when the omnic finally catches Cyberninja. It pulls him through the sand, and whatever super strength he might have, it’s not enough to break its hold. 

“No!” Jesse shouts. 

“Don’t,” Cyberninja snaps at him. “Get away.” 

Jesse freezes, caught between doing as he’s told and doing something, _anything,_ to help. He watches, motionless and fingers going numb, as the creature pulls Cyberninja into the water. Every second that ticks by, it becomes harder to move.

But Cyberninja hasn’t surfaced again. Unless that getup is hiding a secret oxygen mask, this isn’t going to get better. 

The thought snaps Jesse into motion, nothing but instinct. He scrambles through the sand toward the nearest security guard, and he snatches the gun from the holster at his waist. 

He’s never been more afraid, but there’s something inside him that’s eerily calm. As he flicks the safety off, that feeling seems to reach for him. He reaches back.

There’s dust in his mouth. Heat bears down from a sun unchecked by a single cloud. He’s back on his grandparents’ ranch, surrounded by dirt and scrub. The sky’s a brilliant blue and the desert turns to orange out along the horizon, and he swears he can hear the scream of a red-tailed hawk. 

It doesn’t matter that it’s dark out, because he can see everything clear as day, sun so high there are hardly any shadows. He was worried before, rushing, but now he feels like he has all the time he needs. Pressure builds behind his eye as it tracks the omnic’s body, clocking all the weak points left by arrows, the structural weaknesses built into the design, others still identified by memory of the last time Cyberninja took this thing down.

The pressure turns to heat, searing behind the socket, but Jesse’s hand is steady. He inhales, exhales, and he shoots.

Time suddenly catches up to him again, and he rushes toward the water as the thing flails. He spares a passing thought for how distressingly lifelike its spasms are, but he’s more concerned about finding Cyberninja. One of the tentacles snaps at him, and he stumbles in the water, but it slips away just as easily. 

He finds Cyberninja in the shallows, still tangled up in a tentacle that gives way easily to Jesse’s prying. “Please,” he mutters to himself as he hauls Cyberninja to shore. It’s too easy. Jesse thinks it should be impossible to move him, but he feels so light. Fragile.

Out of the water, he drops to his knees, searching for any sign of breathing. There’s no sound, no rise and fall of his chest. There’s no place to check for a pulse that wouldn’t go through the dense material of his uniform. Jesse doesn’t think about the next step; he just does it. He yanks the mask off.

This should be automatic, no hesitation, but Jesse’s mind won’t stop going over the details in front of him, slotting everything neatly into place as he reveals Hanzo’s face. _“No,”_ he breathes. He says it over and over, during the chest compressions, like repeating the word means he can force Hanzo to live through sheer willpower. Like he can command it. 

Hanzo spasms beneath him, then he coughs. Jesse backs off, lets him roll to his side to expel some of the water, but he can’t keep away entirely. He leaves a hand on Hanzo’s shoulder, soothing the best he can. 

It takes Hanzo a moment to cotton on to anything more than the water in his lungs. But he’s clear-eyed when he finally does. “Jesse?” he asks quietly, then he startles, one hand rubbing over his bare face. 

“It’s alright. I got you.” Jesse helps him sit up fully, but he can’t stop his eyes from tracking over his panicked face, taking in every detail. Everything clicks into place now: Hanzo’s strange hours, the constant disappearances, why Cyberninja was willing to go out of his way to rescue him from those kidnappers. There are a thousand things he could say, but none of them can push past the lump in his throat. Instead, he eases the mask back up, carefully smoothing the edge over Hanzo’s wide cheekbones. When he finds his voice, the only thing he can think to say is, “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Hanzo nods while Jesse’s still marveling over how obvious it is that it’s him under there. He’s always liked Hanzo’s eyes, and it seems absurd to him now that he could have imagined Cyberninja was anyone else. 

“Thank you,” Hanzo says. “How did you…”

“Don’t know. I just… did.” Hanzo’s eyes narrow, searching his face, but there’s no answer Jesse can give that would satisfy either of them. 

There’s a shout farther out, back past the dunes. When he glances back, Jesse can see people heading their way. He sighs. “Guess that’s your cue to go, huh?” 

Hanzo rises easily, pulling Jesse to his feet too. His hand lingers on Jesse’s arm. “Tell them you shot it, or tell them I took it down, or both of us. But give them an explanation. Your witnesses do not appear to be fully conscious. They will believe whatever you say happened, and they will corroborate. But do not say you don’t know.”

Jesse nods, left with the distinct impression that Cyberninja is trying to protect him once more. Then he leaves Jesse standing on the beach to face the music alone. 

* * *

Hanzo stares at himself in the mirror, stomach writhing with nerves. He thinks he looks good despite it, but he cannot be sure. He feels like an idiot. 

He has not spoken to Jesse since the incident. He knows he should have. But it took time to process. Some part of him has been braced to find his name all over the news, his identity revealed. He has been waiting for the police to arrive at his door. Genji thinks he is a fool, and so does Satya. Both have assured him that if nothing happened in the first forty-eight hours, nothing is _going_ to happen. 

Jesse is no supervillain, sitting on the secret waiting for the best time to reveal it. Jesse is a good man, one whose every action has signaled a finely tuned moral compass. This is everything Hanzo found attractive about him to begin with. Whatever grudges he may hold over the breakup or the lies, Jesse is too decent to ruin a man’s life over something like that. 

Yet he has not tried to contact Hanzo either. He has had every opportunity, but his silence persists. It makes Hanzo’s current plan even more monumentally stupid than it was in its infancy. 

Someone bangs on the door, and Hanzo feels a spike of irritation. It is a public restroom, though. They have as much right to the space as he does. With a sigh, he pushes away from the mirror, and he exits to the desperate look of a man who’s been holding his bladder for too long. 

Hanzo fusses with his clothing, despite that it is far too casual to deserve the fussing. The restaurant has sand tracked all over the floors. They have plastic _lobster bibs_ for their diners. This is hardly the sort of place where Hanzo’s appearance should matter. 

Outside on the deck, at a heavy plastic table under the shade, sits the source of his anxiety. Jesse fiddles with his drink’s paper umbrella, and he stares out at the water, chin cupped in a metal palm. He’s in a mild blue shirt that flatters his suntanned skin and strains slightly across his shoulders. Hanzo cannot even see his whole face, and his chest aches anyway. 

Jesse finally looks at him when the plastic chair scrapes along the weathered deck. His wide eyes and surprised half smile do things to Hanzo’s insides that should not be possible. Hanzo sits without being invited. 

“I’m— Hey.” Jesse’s smile is as full of nerves as Hanzo feels. “Not that it’s not good to see you, but I’m, uh, waitin’ on someone.” 

“Oh?” Hanzo does not move. 

“Yeah, for that auction thing? Guess the bid got paid even after—” Hanzo’s eyebrow raises, and Jesse stares back as the puzzle pieces slide into place. “They said a woman won.”

Hanzo does not flush, but he does have a vivid flashback to that humiliating bidding war. Satya’s flat, displeased stare as she held up the marker is burned into his memory, as is the way he sank deeper into his seat beside her, humiliated and doing his best to hide from both the audience and from Jesse on the stage. He clears his throat. “She is receiving a generous bonus for her cooperation.” He mumbles it more than he intended. 

Jesse predictably laughs, face flushed. “You could’ve, y’know, _asked.”_

“I… don’t know what I was thinking.” All his very reasonable explanations seem like poor excuses now. He clears his throat. “You are not obligated to stay. I will tell them you showed up and we had a lovely time. Duty fulfilled.”

Jesse stares at him for a moment, chewing his lip. Then he gives a tentative smile. “Wouldn’t wanna make a liar outta you. I’ll stay. You’re payin’, though.”

“Acceptable terms.” Hanzo pulls his phone from his pocket, and he ensures that Jesse is watching as he turns it off entirely. Then he slides it toward Jesse, just out of easy reach. 

Jesse’s grin is wide and bright. He orders another two of his chosen drink, one for each of them, and Hanzo sips carefully and says nothing about his distaste for pineapple. They don’t talk about any of the things from before, nor any of the things they should not discuss in public. 

Instead he learns that Jesse’s favorite color is a red not unlike the shade he has to wear for work, and that he has been offered a supervisory position but is considering changing careers altogether. “Not sure I wanna do anything at the beach but relax, after everything,” he says. 

When they are full and Hanzo’s head is swimming with alcohol and the force of Jesse’s crooked smile, he walks Jesse home. It is only a few blocks, and it is far too short a walk. 

Jesse hovers on the steps. “Wanna come in?”

There’s no mistaking that look or the bolt of heat that it causes, but something makes Hanzo hesitate. He doesn’t want the same as before. He doesn’t want Jesse to think he wants the same as before, either. But Jesse looks like he needs the answer to be yes, and Hanzo can’t deny him. 

Inside, Jesse kisses him like he means it, soft and lazy, syrupy with alcohol and affection, and they stumble on their way to the bedroom. “I missed you,” Jesse confesses, voice quiet and surprised even as he says it. 

Hanzo doesn’t have words for the feeling that expands in his chest, but he holds Jesse’s face in both hands and kisses until Jesse smiles, and he thinks that may be enough for now. He peels Jesse out of his clothing and follows with his mouth, pressing Jesse down onto his back. 

When Hanzo’s shirt comes off, Jesse laughs. “Shoulda known when I saw you like this,” he says. “God, look at you.” His hands run distractingly over Hanzo’s skin, palms scraping along his abdomen and up his chest, fingers digging into the muscle. 

It should make him pleased, but instead something cold settles inside him. “Knowing makes you less safe.” Hanzo swallows. “I should not—”

Metal fingers seize around his wrist, and Hanzo freezes. “I don’t care.” He’s shoring up an argument when Jesse levels a shockingly sober look at him. “I don’t. You don’t get to decide that for me.” Jesse’s smile is crooked again, tilted to one side. “Besides. I can take care of myself.” 

No single, brief conversation will assuage this fear, but Hanzo remembers. He remembers breathing in water, his lungs aching. He remembers the light he saw before he lost consciousness. He remembers the beach when he came to, alone with Jesse with only the unconscious security guards. He still doesn’t know what happened, but he knows it wasn’t as simple as Jesse using a gun. 

He nods, and he strokes a hand through Jesse’s hair, and he kisses him again.   
  



	5. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I updated this epilogue at the same time as the final chapter, so if you’re here for the latest chapter and skipped straight to the end, go back one! :)

“Are your eyes closed?”

“Yes,” Hanzo says with a laugh. He has his hands over his eyes for good measure, but in truth he finds this whole thing ridiculous. 

Behind him, he hears a jingle with each of Jesse’s heavy footsteps. “Alright. You can look now.”

Hanzo turns, hands dropping from his eyes, and he instantly regrets it. His fingers itch to cover his face again, this time in secondhand embarrassment. 

Jesse is in black from head to toe. It is a good color on him, especially now that the blond dye is gone and his facial hair is growing in, but the outfit is absurd. The domino mask and the jumpsuit are not unreasonable. He’s grateful Jesse took his advice about the body armor. He can even forgive the cape. But the hat and the chaps, the _spurs_ on his boots… Hanzo sputters out a laugh. 

Jesse’s lips purse. “What’s wrong with this one?”

“I cannot tell if you are a superhero or a cowboy. Possibly an alien who is vaguely familiar with cowboys.” 

“Well, you didn’t like the yellow one.”

“Because you looked like a striped banana.”

“I liked Dick Tracy as a kid!” 

“And the Lone Ranger.”

“You hated that one too.”

“I already have to spend time with my brother looking like a cartoon.”

“Yeah, yeah, and if we’re partnerin’ up, you want Deadeye to look as good as Cyberninja does.”

“Flattery will not forgive those spurs.” Hanzo laughs, then he schools his face into some measure of seriousness. “Yes to the mask and body armor. Keep the cape if you _must,_ but please consider how many things it could get stuck on. The rest…” Hanzo pinches the bridge of his nose. “Please, no?”

“So you’re really sayin’ no to the cowboy thing.”

“Really.”

 _“Really_ really?” 

Jesse waits, his thumbs hooked in his belt. If nothing else, it frames his crotch in a manner than makes Hanzo absolutely want to fuck him, ridiculous jumpsuit be damned. Hanzo feels himself flush. “You can _keep_ it. It simply isn’t right for patrols.”

“Yeah, ’cause that omnic buildin’ all those octopi—”

“Octopuses.”

“—really gives a shit what the guy about to shoot them looks like.”

Jesse isn’t _wrong_ necessarily, but he seems to forget that Hanzo has been doing this years longer than he has. “The press might see you, which means so will any other potential criminals. _They_ should be appropriately intimidated. Do you really want your heroic debut to be overshadowed by your choice of clothing?”

Jesse snorts, but he eventually concedes the point and returns to his search for an appropriate outfit. Hanzo generously decides to help him undress. He runs one hand over the chaps, then he smiles as he says, “You can definitely keep these.”

The grin he gets in return shows too many of Jesse’s teeth, an unspoken promise to revisit that later. Poor taste aside, it is exciting for Jesse to come along. Hanzo has teamed up before from time to time, most often with his brother, but Jesse intends to be his partner in every sense of the word. He is eager to find out what they can accomplish together.   
  


**Author's Note:**

> UPDATE August 24, 2020: This fic now has [awesome fan art](https://twitter.com/showerwhoops/status/1297678243080867840?s=20) by the ever so talented [shower](https://twitter.com/showerwhoops). Please go give them all the love!


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